I am homeless

      Not literally! I want to clear that up right away. I have a roof over my head and a place to sleep everyday, clean clothes to wear and enough food to eat everyday. I pay rent and utilities. But this place is just an apartment. And I want to go home. To that place where everything in there is yours. A safe, warm, welcoming haven from the big, bad outside world.

     I grew up with divorced parents. When I was young, I had two homes. When I was 20, I moved out on my own. That became home. For several years, I moved from place to place, and each place I lived was home, even if only for a short time. I was moving forward in my life and everything was a step toward some unknown goal. It's funny, but after a few years on my own, my parents' houses were no longer my home. I felt like a guest. I felt I could no longer just walk in whenever I wanted and just make myself comfortable.

     I accepted this, and kept moving forward. I met a man and got married. We made our own home. It was cozy and warm and wonderful. Right up until the relationship went sour. It became a place I dreaded. It had been violated. My home was no longer cozy and safe. But it was still my home! I kept going back every day, and hoping that things would get better again.

     Unfortunately, the time came to leave. I took what I could, and moved in with some very good friends. The place where I live now is very nice. It is filled with laughter and love. But it is not a home. It's a very nice hotel, but it's just a stop along the way.

     I don't like this idea of floating about without an anchor. That cozy, safe haven is the place where we can return and withdraw, to heal our hearts and minds. So, yeah. This is what I'm missing. And I can't wait to find my next home.